A gun. Pointing a gun. A pistol, a gun. Pointing a gun at the people in the room, saying, “Hands on your desks. Helen, Ruth. Come on, Sam, you don’t want to die.”
And another voice the other trooper, it must be was saying, “Pete, hands on your head. Susan, if you reach for that beeper, you’re dead.”
He hitme, George thought, and felt more astonishment at that than even at the fact of the gun and the things they were saying. We aren’t children in a schoolyard, we don’t hit each other, we don’t
It’s a robbery.
The shock of it, being hit, being all at once on the floor, feeling such pain, seeing the astonishing sight of that gun in that man’s hand, had befuddled George for so long that only now thirty seconds? forty? did he realize what this meant. These people were robbing the ship!
The big one, who’d hit him with the side of that gun, it must be now looked down at George. He didn’t point the gun at him, but he didn’t have to, not with those cold eyes. He said, “George, you can sit up, cross your knees, put your hands on your knees. Don’t reach a foot toward that button, George.”
He knows! They know everything, they know my name!
A sudden spasm of guilt washed through George, and he twisted around to stare toward Pete and Susan Cahill. They’ll think it’s me! They’ll think I’m the one told these people everything, and I’ll lose my job, and I’ll go to jail!
The assemblyman no, he can’t be an assemblyman, it’s all a fake he was frisking Pete, while the other non-trooper, also now holding a gun, was taking the beeper off Susan Cahill’s belt. Pete looked frightened, but Susan Cahill was looking outraged. Both were too involved in what was happening to see George stare at them, so George quickly shifted to look at something else. Don’t act guilty, he told himself. Don’t make them suspect you.
Susan Cahill, her voice trembling with fury, suddenly spoke: “This is outrageous! How dare you men, how dareyou behave like this! The police will get you, the police will get you, and Avenue Resorts will be verytough, you can count on that!”
The non-trooper who’d taken her beeper ignored her, turning away to look at the non-trooper standing over George. “Tape,” he said, and pocketed his gun.
“Sure.”
This one reached inside his jacket and took out a compact roll of duct tape. He tossed it across to the other one, then looked down and said, “George, I told you to sit up.”
“Yes. Yes. All right.” He didn’t want to be hit again, or whatever worse might happen. He scrambled into a seated position, making a point of moving away from that button, that he could see just over there, under the counter. But no power on Earth would make him move toward that button, not even to save his job.
The non-trooper with Susan Cahill peeled off some tape and said to her, “Hands behind your back.”
“I certainly will not!” She folded her arms under her breasts and glared. “If you think you’ll get awaywith”
He slapped her, left-handed, open-handed, but hard, the sound almost like a baseball being hit by a bat. All of them in the room jumped at the sound, George and Pete and Helen and Ruth and Sam. The three robbers didn’t jump.
Susan Cahill staggered from the slap, and stared at the non-trooper, who stepped closer to her and said, as though he really wanted to know the answer, “Are those your teeth?”
She gaped at him. “What?”
“Are thoseyour teeth?”
She didn’t know the reason for the question, but she was suddenly afraid not to answer. “Yes.”
“Do you want to keep them?”
This answer was smaller, more defeated. “Yes.”
“Hands behind your back.”
She put her hands behind her back, quivering now with fear, but George could tell that the outrage and the fury were still there inside her, merely prudently banked for the moment. The non-trooper duct-taped her wrists, then started to put another piece of duct tape over her mouth, but she pulled her head away. He stopped, and looked at her, and the next time he moved the duct tape she didn’t resist. As he put it over her mouth, he said, “If I was a bad guy, or if you irritated me, I’d put this over your nose, too. You’re going to sit down now.” He took her arm to help her, and she sat on the floor, and he duct-taped her ankles together.
Meantime, the fake assemblyman had been ordering the others around, telling Helen and Ruth and Sam by name to keep doing what they were doing, handling the money and the chips, and not to vary the routine in any way. For instance, not to send anything more or less than normal up to the cashier’s cage in each vacuum canister.
“I’ll tell you why,” he said. “It isn’t your money, and it would be stupid to die for it. The line’s insured, you’ll still get your salary. If there’s trouble, we may get caught but you will absolutely certainly get dead. So cooperate, and this little unpleasantness will soon be over. Pete?”
Pete jumped again, as when Susan Cahill was slapped. “Yes? What?”
“Easy, Pete, gentle down, there’s a love. And here’s a plastic bag. I want you to fill it with the cash from George’s station, since he won’t be working any more tonight.”
“All right.”
As Pete came over with the white plastic bag kitchen can size the one non-trooper finished with Susan Cahill and tossed the duct tape back to the one by George, who said, “Okay, George, your turn. Hands behind your back.” And, as he put his gun in his pocket, the other one across the room took his out again.
George said, “Excuse me, I’m sorry, but I”
“Come on, George.”
No long explanations, not with these people; only short explanations. George blurted out, “I have asthma!”
The big man looked at him. He seemed really interested. “Yeah? Had it long?”
George hadn’t expected that question. He said, “Fifteen years. And I can’t always breathe through my nose, I’m afraid, if you put that tape on”
“I get it, George,” the big man said. “If you got asthma real bad like that, you probably carry some kind of medicine for it, am I right? An inhaler, something like that?”
“Yes.”
“How slow can you take it out of your pocket, George?”
“Very slow.”
“Go ahead.”
George kept his inhaler in his inside jacket pocket, and now realized that was exactly where a tough guy or a bad guy would keep a gun. Hand trembling, sweat starting to trickle down his face, breath becoming raspy already, he reached into his pocket, grasped the inhaler, lost it through his trembling fingers, grasped it again, jerked his hand back, shuddered the motion to a stop, and slowly and shakily brought the little tube into sight.
The big man seemed pleased. “Good, George,” he said. “Now, if you gave yourself a spray or two with that, you’d be okay for a while, wouldn’t you?”
“I think so,” George said.
“We both think so, George,” the big man said. “Go ahead, take a shot.”
George did. He had so much trouble keeping his right hand steady that he held it with the left hand so he could fit the inhaler into his mouth, lips closed over it, and direct the spray at the back of his throat. He did this twice, and while he did the big man said to the other one, “There’s a lot of asthma around these days, you know? Worse than ever. It comes from mold, a lot of times, and I read someplace, you can get it from cockroach dander. Can you believe it? You try to keep yourself in shape and some fucking cockroach is out to bring you down. You set, George?” George put the inhaler back in his pocket. “Yes.” Hunkered beside him, applying the duct tape, the big man in a friendly manner said, “What I think you should do, now that the working day is done, you got time on your hands, I think you should spend it working on what you’re gonna say to the TV news reporters.”